


Of Dark Blood and Loving Thee

by Conversity



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: A little bit of everything for everyone, Alien Biology, Bones helps the best he can, Bottom Jim, Bottom Spock, Comfort/Angst, Embaressed Spock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Jim is trying to understand his Vulcan, M/M, Not quiet dating but theres still a relationship, Pon Farr, Possessive Spock, Rituals, Spock in robes, Top Jim, Top Spock, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5646484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conversity/pseuds/Conversity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blood fever has taken hold of Spock and as he tries to desperately fight the beast of his Vulcan drives, he must try and protect Jim from that terrible, dark part of himself. Meanwhile, Jim will do his best to be what his partner needs, no matter how it might ruin the fragile relationship they've been working toward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Rest For The Wicked

There was panic coupled with the ancient drives and Spock cursed the churning emotions in his body. He tried to will away the monster clawing against his mind again, ignoring the mantras and unwilling to be placated with meditation, its teeth and fangs gnashing, chest heaving, and the hot lust like liquid lava in his eyes.

"You thought I wouldn't emerge?" The dark voice reverberated with a growl, as if he was spitting bitterly at the weak, trembling, human part of himself. "You hoped that you would be spared?" Spock shook his head gently, almost as if to cast the gruff tone from his cobwebbed brain.

"Hope is a…." he drew in a deep, gasping breath, exhaling too soon as the primal hand grabbed at him again and chocked hard.

"Yes, I know, it is a human emotion, but let us be honest. You have been waiting for this."

"No." Spock straightened his back, hands fumbling blindly on the sink's lip, arms shaking with the weight of the inner battle. "I never wanted this." But his eye lids were heavy as he fought to take control of his rebelling body. "I am stronger than you."

The laughter in his mind echoed like melting chocolate, hot and sweet, dark and deep. It touched a hollow part of him and lit another spark, scratching at his thoughts.

"Liar! You know I will defeat you, you've calculated the outcomes!" The beast shook in his chains and bared his glistening teeth, canines peeking obscenely from his curled lips. "That's why you reek of fear, there's no strength in your training fortified enough to withstand me! You will let me out! You will submit to this!" Spock could practically feel the ache of the chains as they strained against the embodied lust and power and he braced his body against the hot blooded spike that ravaged his body.

The monster calmed precipitously then, his pupils darkening as he knit his eye brows and loosened his claws from Spock's body, leaving just a swell of warmth in his veins, like they were expanding, blocked, no release in sight until permission was given. The only sounds between the two were Spock's ragged breaths and a low, keening moan, almost like he was begging to be brought off now that the beast had been riled up this far. His brain felt raw and tender, fevered to the touch and he was almost afraid to reach into the depths of his being to question the sudden quell of his ancestral enemy.

"This will kill you, you do understand." The voice was wistful, confident and snidely soft as it whispered in Spock's ear. "These are older passions; this is a power beyond your logical comprehension. This isn't something your brain can simply block out or suppress with mantras and incense. In fact..." His pause was baited, playful, and each beat of silence throbbed painfully behind Spock's eyes. "This is all your brain wants." The truth had been beating against his mind like a sledge hammer, splitting him open, but now that it had been voiced, he was shaken scared, no; this was past normal fear, as the inner drive recognized a crack in his psyche and began flooding the open wound like a saline solution.

"What do you want?" Spock finally asked, breathy, delirious attempt at control, stressed, drained, and close to shattering, his knees locked now as he fought to stand, swallowing dryly as he fought against retching up his twisted innards.  
"Him." The vice stroked against the tender bond that was crackling to life at the very memory of his golden Captain. "I want him."

"No." His nails dug into his clammy palms, the pain nulling nothing. "Do not ask that of me." Spock begged, understanding the awful turn of the tide in him as he felt his heart beat begin to race.

"Please, just a taste. I want him beneath me, want him pressed hot and tight, writhing in submission. I will take him, will have him. Do not deny me. Do not deny yourself."

"I can't." Spock bit his lip against the indulgent moan that was lingering in his throat at the flash of images that burned behind his eyelids, pictures of his Captain throwing his head back in ecstasy; cheeks flushed red as cherries, skin hot, steaming almost around him with sweat and the heavy scents of mixing pheromones.

"Yes, you can." A breath caught in his throat as he tried to reign in the lust tightening his jeans, making him ache in ways that a million years of evolution couldn't dull. He wanted Jim so bad it pained him, but twined in the strong fibers of need was the shuddering cries of fear and a breaking human heart.

"You'll kill him, its mutiny, please do not, you must take control, breath, think about the consequences, his trust, your loyalty." The litany of the soft voice was bleeding and whispery, thinly veiled like smoke clouding Spock's eyes as he then felt the beast's not breath blow the human worrying away, a stark cold cruelty almost tangible in the hard ice of his eyes.

"If you can't take him, I will," the voice tried to soothe. "Give me the control. Trust me to love your mate and I swear to be gentle, I will, I promise, please." A whine crackled low in his throat, almost like a wounded animal, and Spock felt something in him completely shatter like a star going supernova, like being shred to pieces, almost like dying and seeing the light.

"Good, good." There was a purr, warm hands cupping his mind, a scorching pair of lips smiling curled against his forehead as the beast kissed him to sleep. Spock was suddenly drowsy, so much that he fought to keep is eyes open, or his legs to stand, and he soon let himself be covered with the peace of letting down his guard and unlocking the animal from its chains.

As his eyes blinked uncoordinatedly one last time, he felt a breath leave him, tumbling headfirst and backwards into the darkness of his sanity.

-VV-  
The beast of the ancient drives embodied the unbridled passions which Vulcans kept strangled within themselves, the predator shameless in its intensity and intimacies, straining on its leash against its placid hosts. It was the suppression of these emotions at a young age which, in the minds of all Vulcans, males even more so, which lead to a split in the personalities. They were constantly tempted by the voices and images their beast conjured against their control and while meditation helped fortify the chains, there was no conscious clarity capable of resisting the vices. 

It was this very beast which mindlessly sought out it's craving, meshing it's entity with Spock's like a braid of fire and want twined with the conscious. Spock’s denial of his condition had led to what he wished to think of as a separate entity, removed completely from the gentleness and mercy of human decency; and in his sudden lapse of judgment due to the delirious blood fever, Spock had allowed this monster to fill his skin and sate his unconscious desires.

Pon Farr did not make mindless creatures under its influence of the baser being, but the freed entity always leapt from its confides, ready to take what it wanted. And Spock in particular had denied his conscious of many things. 

But unlike his ancestors, his ordered Vulcan training had been stripped and beneath it, the bleeding heart of his human self was left to reign in the heady needs that drove him to stalk through the halls of the Enterprise. He wandered towards the delicious scent of his intended, veering in and out of the rooms like a blood hound. 

There was a certain clear headedness that accompanied the urge to protect, claim, tend to, care for, almost like he was freshly poured cast iron, hot and malleable, being dipped in the cold water, steaming to set properly. His body was useful and controlled as he deeply inhaled and turned the corner, following the ripe scent, his tongue wetting his lips as he if he could taste his beloved's skin on the air. 

This thread of humanity was still a small force compared to the hormones driving the blood and mind, just enough to give guidance as the beast in him rolled his shoulders, squaring them, held his head high. He sucked in a large breath, puffing his chest and letting the semblance of pride, power, and possessiveness tighten his limbs as he led the hunt for his mate, closing in on the familiar Sick Bay corridor.

The air was thick, permeated with liquid disinfectants and sterilized metal, tainted with the rancid, older claim of another male, this one clearly unbonded. Spock's lips curled in a toothy growl as his mind flashed memories of Leonard H. McCoy behind his eyes with heated jealousy. 

A part of him tried to smooth the ruffled feathers with the thoughts of the doctor's young daughter and previous marriage to a woman, but the wild, possessive part of him kept thinking about Jim's bright eyes and tender smile as he held the few children which had found home in the ship on the way to delegations and foster homes, the voice cooing that Jim would make a wonderful mate with children. 

The doctor might steal Jim.

‘Stop,’ Spock pleaded as he filed away the jealousy the best he could. ‘The doctor can help, seek him out.’ He felt a snarl rough in his throat, his chest hot and winded. ‘Please. Speak with him. He can give us what we need.’


	2. Hazardous Materials, Handle With Extreme Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones tries to steer Jim in the right direction all the while trying to keep Spock from tearing him to shreds. Maybe he'll need help from someone else who's had to deal with this before.

The brandy was a smooth burn on the back of Jim’s throat, the first and only taste he allowed for the day, and with a half-smile he nodded polite thanks to his doctor.

"You always know what I need, Bones." Jim sighed gently, as if he was expending energy on other thoughts.

Leonard McCoy was perceptive in all things Kirk, picking up on his avoidance with a sharp glint of worry in his tired eyes. 

Instead of broaching the subject directly, he simply scratched the scruff of his neck with a sandpapery sound and answered after he took another swig of his own liquid courage. 

"Well, I'd hope after all these years I know what to prescribe. Though I still don't have a fix for a rainy day." The silence that answered him sat thickly over Jim's drooping shoulders and bowed head, his fingers wiping slowly, methodically, at the wet droplets on the glass. 

"Or a broken heart," McCoy confessed lowly, dropping his gaze to catch his friend's as the Captain's shocked blue eyes flashed self-consciously. 

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you've been moping round my sick bay most of your time off the bridge," his grousing was deep and a bit course with the natural southern drawl, eye brows rising questioningly at Jim to let him know he was fooling no one. "Now I know Spock has-"

"Why does this have to be about him?" Jim accused as he stood, voice rising a bit indigently as he continued, "Nothing is wrong, can't I just come to see you? Is that a crime?" 

"Oh quit your drama; I know you're sulking over him. And don't even start your pacing, you’re gonna make me antsy." Bones doused back another shot of the brandy and then pointed a firm finger at his friend. "You're in love and it's bothering you."

Jim shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared Bones down with a hard, well-practiced, Captain's bluff.

"You can't read me as well as you'd like to think." Kirk quipped, hoping it stung as much as his heart did with the thought that he was being so obvious about his adoration for his First Officer that Bones noticed.

"Sorry to bust your bubble princess, but you've been an open book since the first year at the academy. Besided, I've been married, raised a daughter, I know what heart break looks like." Jim suddenly wondered if Bones saw that expression in the mirror too, and that's how he knew to find it. "It's written on you as plain as the antenna on an Andorian.” The last part of his sentence muffled into his glass as he took one last swig, cringing at the taste. 

James Kirk simply looked on in a fine impersonation of impassive Vulcan exterior, the facade lasting for a strong beat before he dropped into his chair, heavy head resting in his hands. 

"It's not that easy Bones; this isn't just some crush that'll go away with a one night fling." Jim’s tone seemed mournful, pining almost as if his very soul was saddened at the thought of loving this seriously. His fingers deftly smoothed over the silver chain hanging at his throat, catching the pendent. The cold of the infinity symbol pendent calmed him, the volcanic gem hanging from its upper loop resting heavily on his chest. "If I mess this one up, I'll feel like I've failed everything." Jim remembered the tender hazel eyes in the meld with Spock Prime, the depth of adoration and friendship encompassing an obscene amount of pure love that he felt down to his marrow in warm, blissful waves. 

And in turn, he felt the pleasure of acceptance from Spock, how it was to be cherished after a long, lonely life of an outcast in two societies, to feel unworthy to a bond mate who had shunned and turned her back on him in his greatest time of need. More importantly, he had felt how a simple look from his Captain was all Spock had needed to feel at home. 

Selfishly, Jim wanted to have that kind of intimate attention focused solely on himself, but another, greater part of him wanted to be the only one who made Spock feel that deeply, to be the one who sparked in him the fire of love and acceptance, simple and pure.

His Prime had done so naturally and their counterparts had loved deeply for many years, he could feel it in the pain of Spock Prime's longing for his bond mate. 

But Jim hadn't the slightest clue how to find that kind of connection, especially with a man who had recently began to shy away from him as if Jim was the very pain in his life. 

“Jim,” the doctor’s gravelly voice jolted him, Jim’s hand pulling back to rest in his ruffled bangs. “Jim boy, look, I don’t know what’s been up and I don’t have a clue about his Vulcan sensibilities, but that,” His eyes darted to the necklace that shimmered over Jim’s black undershirt. “Is special.” 

“I know, I know,” Jim groaned as he pressed the heels of his palms of his eyes, a headache nipping at his patience, the alcohol buzzing in the back of his skull like an in-between radio station. “I’m just…” The word hung unspoken, yet Bones knew what Jim meant. 

‘Afraid. Worried. Nervous.’ As he took another sip from his glass, the doctor gave Jim a once over and cracked a broken smile. ‘The kid has a power balance issue. He needs to let go and do what he does best. TRY.’ 

“Go to bed, Jim,” he reasoned as he snatched the glass tumbler from Jim’s steady hand. “Worry about all of this tomorrow. I know you probably don’t want to spend your first day of shore leave fixing trouble in paradise, but it has to be done.” 

The blonde nodded, unable to bring himself to catch the parental sheen in McCoy’s eyes. The two stood together, Jim’s back stiff although his legs and head felt loose, catching himself from pitching forward onto Leonard’s desk. 

“Ya,” was all Jim could say, nodding as he walked to the door, raising his head as its pneumatics hissed open, revealing the dark robes and golden Vulcan script that detailed them. “Spock?” 

But the man’s dark eyes didn’t look at Jim. 

Instead, they were fixed on McCoy, intense and blazing as he stood taller, chest rising with a breath. Spock was the paramount of Vulcan propriety, dangerous and unpredictable beneath all that hard fought control. Jim wet his lips, still sour from his drink, and almost gaped when Spock copied the movement. 

“I must speak with you.” Spock’s voice made Jim shudder, a tinge of worry sparking as he watched the muscles in Spock’s throat click and strain, as if he was trying not to grind his teeth, holding something back. Jim wanted to place a hand on Spock’s shoulder and look him in the eyes, wanted to say everything that would make it, whatever it was, ok.

“Spock, I have something to-”

“Alone,” the Vulcan emphasized as Jim stood frozen in front of him.

Bones, though he appeared just as dumbfounded as Jim, slipped easily into professional mode, and cut Spock a wry grin. “How could I say no to that face?” he tried to joke, eyes flitting to Jim and then to the door. His message was clear, and Jim took it, marching towards his quarters, mind still reeling at how callous Spock had been. 

The last few months had been more or less a honeymoon period between them, with Jim trying hard not to push the boundaries that came with dating a Vulcan while Spock came up with clever ways to keep Jim happy in their relationship. There was an unseemly amount of overcompensation and apologies between the two as they fumbled with each other, and yet Jim usually found himself giddy. It was new, fun, and innovative. There was of course panic and uncertainty, but he could see that Spock was just as lost and knowing that they were equals in that aspect, and it made the entire relationship more fun than anything else Jim had tried at the Academy. More real. 

The headache that had been thrumming slowly behind his temples was picking up pace as he keyed his code into the panel, the cool darkness of his room inviting after the long day. Most nights, Spock would spend his sleep schedule in Jim’s quarters, dressed in his thermal underwear and nestled against the human’s naked skin, soaking in his warmth. It was only for a few hours, Vulcan rest periods being shortened when accompanied with longer meditation sessions, but they decided that it was better than making Jim sweat in the melting heat of Spock’s quarters for most of the night.

As Jim peeled his undershirt off, toed off his boots, and left his pants in the middle of the room, he wondered if Spock would sneak under the sheets later tonight, after he fixed whatever he needed to with Bones. 

“What if he’s real bad sick? Dying even?” Jim’s thoughts scattered different scenarios around as he rolled into bed. He sighed against the worst of them as the images began to get ridiculous. “If something was terribly wrong, Spock Prime would have mentioned something the last time we talked. Besides, Spock is grown; he can go to the doctor and not tell me. That’s normal.” 

The idea sickened Kirk though and he blamed the knot in his stomach on Bone’s illegal booze. 

Once they were completely alone, the nurses told to retire early, Bones got a good look at Spock. He could read the maturation in the Vulcan's face, its placid expression seeming heavier on his stern brow, the emerald looking sore and bruised on the tips of his tapered ears. It was a growth that had happened overnight it seemed, Spock's new height giving him a slight edge over McCoy's, and the doctor knew that such a stunt must be taxing on the body, its wear clear as day in the sharply guarded eyes. 

"You need a good inoculation," Bones stated clinically as he prepped a hyospray, "Maybe a few rounds of vitamins to counterbalance the fact you seem to have backhanded puberty." The tip of the hypo drew no blood as it hissed against the green skin of Spock's neck, the Vulcan not even wincing as the doctor delivered three more in quick, precise succession. 

"I will require a week of solitude as well." The voice, though recognizably Spock's, was somehow cadenced graver, and Bones don't know if the timber was because of maturity or the seriousness of the sentence, "I need to be completely undisturbed." 

"Spock, I might not be a Vulcan-whisperer, but I do know that other life forms go through this process much slower than what you're exhibiting. The amount of hormones flooding that ice water you call blood alongside the influx of a brand new sexual drive should kill you-" 

Before the doctor could get another word in edge wise, the commander had him pressed bodily against the bulkhead, his hand a boiling brand around his throat. 

"Cease speaking to me as if I do not understand the weight of this burden. You cannot begin to comprehend the amount of control I exercise not to snap your neck." His tone was slicing, hand caging McCoy until he fought to breath, straining against the hard alien body and finding the way Spock's pupils dilated more daunting than his words.

But Leonard H. McCoy wasn't some yellow-bellied outsider. He'd seen enough holovids and medical journals to recognize an Alpha male when it choked him and understood plenty to know that this act wouldn't last long on someone who had claim to territory.

"Let go," Bones ground out sternly, almost scolding with how he drew his eyebrows and stared down the beast in front of him. He kept his harried thoughts on how he was a doctor, a healer, a friend, and let his fears slip away so the touch telepath would calm. Spock bared his teeth one last time, the new canines sharp and glistening in the harsh medical lamp light of the Medbay. His eyes mapped the planes of the doctor’s face, and after a long, silent moment, recognized something. Spock released Leonard, watching as his knees caught his weight, the human standing immediately against the pain. Leonard caught his gaze, his stance matching Spock’s. That small something in Spock smiled, congratulating Leonard on how well he was performing. But the Vulcan didn’t let that overshadow his display, instead, nodded once, eyes closed. 

“I’ll add an extra week to your shore leave roster and make sure all your lab duties are delegated to Lt. Marcus. But you Comm me every day with a report on your health, do you hear me?” 

Spock’s lip quivered with a snarl at Carol Marcus’ name, the thought of her replacing him in the science labs revolting. Jim liked her. The ensigns found her charming, personable. Kirk Prime had a child with her Prime, in that other timeline-

“Do you hear me?” Leonard growled, his hand tightening around Spock’s arm, seizing his attention. The Vulcan ground his teeth and jerked away, his eye brows carving a grave scowl. 

“As you humans say, ‘Loud and clear.’”  


“Go on now. Lock yourself away and suffer.”

They stared each other down, neither ready to let the other best them by holding out longer, until Leonard took a step forward, chest to chest with Spock, and the Vulcan relented, leaving McCoy’s territory, though not without one last glare before he turned the corner into the hallway.  


Leonard counted to ten before he let his lungs deflate, out of breath from standing tall and imposing in the face of a being he had once watched maul Jim over a bridge console.  


“I’m too damned old for this.” He sighed, letting his desk chair catch his weight, and blindly fumbled for his Comm unit on his desk. He thumbed a quick message to the Science Department on the excused absence of their CO and left the open position as ‘to be announced’. That would be at the Captain’s discretion, since Spock had thrown such a fit over McCoy’s choice of Carol.

Next, he tried to word an unbiased, neutral message to Jim that didn’t give the impression that Spock had lost his god damned mind, even though that was Leonard’s honest professional opinion. He didn’t want to startled Jim, because a panicked Jim was a hasty-to-make-decisions Jim, but he needed to impress upon him that this new Spock was a different fueled Vulcan than Jim’s Vulcan. After a few attempts at rewording the idea of “approach with utmost caution” and “unstable contents, handle with care”, Leonard decided that maybe he should call someone who knew more about Vulcan biology than Starfleet’s best medical journals.

“Uhura?” He asked after pressing the Comm link. “Think you could patch me to New Vulcan?”

“Give me a second. You’ll have to wait until the solar flare of Aldeberon quiets. Its giving the signals fits.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” He answered, slumping forward, chin balanced on his elbows. “Just tell me when."


End file.
